[ While it's a relief to have some trustworthy back-up, Kim feels oddly naked walking into a fraught situation without his firearm at his side. His hand twitches at its side, reaching for the holster that's no longer there, glancing behind them as he takes the rear. Foolish, to be so paranoid. No other building has had anything nefarious in it. So why does he always feel as though someone else is just bound to storm in with ill intent?
But once they're in, they're confronted with nothing more than walls of safes, much like any ordinary bank, the names of every person in this godforsaken place neatly labeled as though they had been born and raised here. ]
Yes. It looks like it is. And here, this one is yours, [ he says, pointing it out. ] We'll open one at a time, just in case. Take a step back. We don't know what's in there.
[ His thoughts drift back to the chemical warfare he'd heard about when he was a kid. Chemical warfare, shoved in mailboxes, ready to explode at a moment's notice. He never learned whether that actually happened or if that was just a rumour meant to scare young kids against the rebels still roaming Revachol's streets, but it had left its mark on him nonetheless. So, readying himself, he sticks the key in and slowly turns it, the grating of the mechanism loud in the empty room, accompanied only by the quiet sounds of his and Kamui's breath.
But when he opens it, nothing happens. No explosion. No weapons. No alarms. Instead, inside, there is a single, familiar looking trinket. ]
What the...
[ He wants to recoil. He almost does. He can feel the way his heartrate spikes, his pulse pounding in his ears. But he wants to keep his composure, especially in front of a fellow detective. With deceptive calm, he reaches in and holds the bauble gently in the palm of his hand, eyes roving over it. ]
...it's not dangerous, at least. It should be safe to open yours as well.
no subject
But once they're in, they're confronted with nothing more than walls of safes, much like any ordinary bank, the names of every person in this godforsaken place neatly labeled as though they had been born and raised here. ]
Yes. It looks like it is. And here, this one is yours, [ he says, pointing it out. ] We'll open one at a time, just in case. Take a step back. We don't know what's in there.
[ His thoughts drift back to the chemical warfare he'd heard about when he was a kid. Chemical warfare, shoved in mailboxes, ready to explode at a moment's notice. He never learned whether that actually happened or if that was just a rumour meant to scare young kids against the rebels still roaming Revachol's streets, but it had left its mark on him nonetheless. So, readying himself, he sticks the key in and slowly turns it, the grating of the mechanism loud in the empty room, accompanied only by the quiet sounds of his and Kamui's breath.
But when he opens it, nothing happens. No explosion. No weapons. No alarms. Instead, inside, there is a single, familiar looking trinket. ]
What the...
[ He wants to recoil. He almost does. He can feel the way his heartrate spikes, his pulse pounding in his ears. But he wants to keep his composure, especially in front of a fellow detective. With deceptive calm, he reaches in and holds the bauble gently in the palm of his hand, eyes roving over it. ]
...it's not dangerous, at least. It should be safe to open yours as well.